


Be Here Now

by SaltBud (Culttherapy)



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Dissociation, Doctor Whump, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Panic Attacks, Smut, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 06:15:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25079731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Culttherapy/pseuds/SaltBud
Summary: The fam thinks she's abandoned them, or worse, has marched headlong to her death. She's been trying desperately to escape the Judoon prison, and she's finally made it out, but not all is what it seems. The longer the Doctor is back, the more seems to go wrong until the fam makes a horrific discovery.Rating for graphic depictions of violence, rape, whump, dissociation, panic attacks, and smut. This story is not for the faint of heart.
Relationships: Thasmin - Relationship, The Doctor/Yasmin Khan, Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	1. Fly

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of trigger warnings y'all. This fic will not be for everyone.
> 
> TW-  
> Violence  
> Rape  
> Dissociation  
> Panic Attacks  
> Smut  
> Whump

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Dissociation and Rape

She knew humans, not all, but some, believed in a thing called God, an omnipotent, sometimes loveless being, who was revered and feared and astounding and she thought that that was perhaps what this sensation was like. To float, aimless and without body in a space so vast and hallow and smothering at once. She could implode or swell in sync. Maybe that’s what having a God felt like. If it was, perhaps she would have to join whatever club it was that believed in them. 

It almost felt like the time she’d first met the fam, had accidentally taken them all into her world, and by chance, Desolation. That instant in which they had all billowed through space. It was almost like regenerating, but without the pain. The pain. That was the point of this. It came to her suddenly and like a pressure that threatened to explode itself from deep within her. 

In an instant the feeling of floating bent and curdled within her and she was pressed to a ridged, scratchy surface, the skin of her back prickling against it, more a rhythmic sensation than hurt. Her eyes were stretched, too wide open, and as she looked on she took in a form eerily similar to her new body, pale and nude and shining, though something obscured it. A form, a figure, who moved with the cadence of the scratching on her back and she idly wondered if the creature was why they were pinned to the ceiling above her. Maybe it had some anti gravitational ability. 

She recalled an alien with whom she had made friends after she had saved his race, the Vitroscid, from drowning when she stopped their planet from orbiting through a mess of water after a containment vessel twice the size of their home had exploded in it’s path. They could transform themselves into flies, and the alien had had the privilege of being an actual fly on the wall for some of history’s most important events. She had thought at the time she had experienced something not quite the same, but similar with her little drop-ins, but she realized now it was different. 

When she popped into history she had a certain amount of control, but it never felt voyeuristic; she had a set of rules that would guide her through what history knew would happen. When one was a fly on the wall one experienced intimacy. The unhindered sounds, the unconstrained emotions that slipped out when there was no self consciousness. The couple above her, they didn’t know she was there, and she experienced their breaths, the sounds of their bodies, and despite herself she felt the heated shame of seeing something she should not. 

That’s when she noticed the chair. Next to them, on the ceiling, a chair sat, un-tethered, upside down to her. On top of it sat an object, and as she focused on it, tried to push away the grinding in her back, and a new, heavy drumming in her hips, she felt the air leave her lungs in a sharp, shrill note. Her Sonic, sitting atop a neatly folded jumpsuit. A mixture of anxiety fueled adrenaline and confusion ripped through her and as she turned her head the sensations of weight and rhythm and pain rose as a chorus with the sound of her own voice.

The woman on the ceiling had also turned her head, and with a terrible, utter clarity stared up at her. Her own face, her own eyes bored into her from what she all at once understood to be the ground. The her pinned to the floor screamed as well. 

Suddenly the world turned and she felt herself tumbling, the chair and Sonic and bodies flying up to meet her, passing by her for a brief moment of weightlessness, and then she was under what she knew now to be a man. She was forced back into herself and the pain that she had floated away to escape from. His hips ground into hers, his body smothered her into the floor and she felt herself scream again, trying once more to vacate herself. 

This time his hand clamped over her chapped, dry-split lips and the sound resonated back into her head. Everything was too sharp, too keen a sensation to fall into after the glorious numbness of escaping herself and she felt the fingerlings of unconsciousness prodding her. At least, she thought, it would be a relief. 

Slowly, like masks, faces began to form at the edges of her vision, brought along with the darkness, eyes hallow but their features familiar. Those she had saved, she had let down or had been unable to save, her companions, new and old, and finally, as her vision dimmed to a pinprick of sensation, Yaz. She felt the tightness of her cheeks bending around a smile under his rough palm, felt the wetness of tears leeching into the creases of her eyes and then nothing. Sweet, blissful nothing.


	2. Ball Lightning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: this chapter contains smut

Yaz, with the incurable quiet of her sad mind had found the doctors voice encroaching on the vacancy created by depression, a match igniting in the dark. Every so often it would chime in, thick northern accent and lilting, whimsical tones streaking through a thicket of pain. Tonight was no different, the singsong of it joined by the crash-bangs of a summer thunderstorm, the lightning a rare series of flashes in the Sheffield sky. Sheffield usually had one big wobbler of a thunderstorm every summer, a hideous, roaring thing swept into town on the humid wind of summer to rattle and rage among the typical rain-shed that drenched the city. This year’s had come in early September. 

Yaz wallowed beneath it, closed into the 180 square feet of her childhood bedroom, her parents and Sonya humming with life in their own rooms beyond. It felt as though her own life force vibrated at a different speed, at a rate that matched the thrum of the bolts around her but struggled to reach down; a sky cracking slash of electricity bottled in a glass jar. She had been a dampened version of herself since the Doctor had left them, had sent her and Graham and Ryan away in a foreign TARDIS, staying to die or to run away. Yasmin couldn’t tell which, though her heart cried out for the latter. 

She had held, for so long, sand sifting between her fingers, the hope that the Doctor had simply gone, too scared of herself and of what she meant to them, what she thought she couldn’t mean to them. For so long, Yasmin had let the swell of her chest and tingle in her throat convince her that the Doctor would be back for them, someday.

But heartbreak had begun to sink its teeth in. It had simply been too long. If she had survived, if she had remained the Doctor they knew her to be she would have found a way back to them by now. Yaz was sure of it, could feel it deep in a cavernous part of her heart that had only just begun to shape itself around the Doctor when she had left them. She could still feel her cold skin, feel the thin wrist ripped from her grasp, the sting of the emotion that flitted across her pretty face when she’d asked Yaz to let her go, let her march headlong to her end, or her getaway. 

There it was again, the hope, the glimmer of the Doctor’s voice, speaking through a smile in her mind. A crash, raucous and wild, tore through the heavy, wet air that seeped inbetween the unsealed windows, the door cracks of the apartment and sent the power flickering. In the momentary lapse into darkness another bolt struck the earth, a bitter whip licking the centuries of dirt and bone and ash. This time immediately a crack broke the sky as the building’s lights shuddered once more to life, the thunder shuddering through Yasmin’s chest. It reminded her of standing too close to the speakers at a show, a bass rumbling through her chest cavity. 

And another. This one outlined clearly as a spiking, sparking arm just beyond her window and the soaring of her heart clamped between the muscles of her esophagus. The sound was quicker than instantaneous, the lightning so near that it sounded simultaneous to the strike. A small yelp escaped her, mirrored on the other side of the wall, much louder as Sonya’s bedroom door swung open, before, unceremoniously, her own flung back against her wall. 

“Oi! Sonya! Get out of my room!” She sat up straighter on her bed, pushing the laptop from her knees. Glaring from the screen was the gnarled face of something nasty and dead; a crime scene photo of what she was trying to identify as an alien species she believed could be related to the Cyberman who had, presumably all been destroyed when…

“Bloody hell is that Yaz?” She let her fingers curl menacingly tight around the screen of the laptop before throwing it shut and surging to her feet, hoping the inch or two she had on her younger sibling would be intimidating enough when combined with lack of personal space. She crowded Sonya towards the empty hallway beyond her room. 

“Watching a horror film, leave me alone.”

“Can I watch with you? This storm is really freaking me out.” She had just backed out of the threshold of Yasmin’s room, and it sent a pang through the depth of Yaz’s heart as another bolt struck down and the lights flickered again. She knew Sonya was afraid of storms, had been since she was a little kid, but Yasmin was so close to figuring things out, and so morose, she couldn’t bring herself to welcome her sister in. She gripped the edge of her door, white knuckled, before sadly shaking her head, pointing her chin down the hall as she meekly whispered a cowardly “Go hang out with mum and dad then.” the sound of her door slamming in her sister’s face coinciding with another body-rattling pulse of thunder. 

Flopping back onto the bed she let a low, rough breath out, the air releasing from her lungs like gravel pulled downstream. Gently she flicked the screen of her laptop open once more, coming face to face with the death-grey, slimy face of something almost human and blood soaked, one eye missing as the other stared blankly down the barrel of the camera lens used to captured it’s lifeless features. 

“Yaz?”

The hairs on the back of her neck stood first, peaking in reaction to the soft, feminine voice that came from everywhere and nowhere. What a cruel trick the mind could play. But then the hairs on the back of her arms stood on end, her ears popping as a streak of light blazed across the other side of her window, the glass cracking with a sickening, splitting sound that left the sheet intact, but fractured in a pattern eerily similar to the shape of a lightning bolt. The sound was deafening, and suddenly she was blind. 

Bright, painful white encompassed her bedroom, details consumed in an open, brilliant mouth of light and she could have sworn she heard her name again. The brilliance swelled, an organ breathing, and then clamped tightly in on itself, a ball of neon frost hovering at chest height, crackling and sighing with the exhale of electricity. Clambering over the side of the bed, Yaz found herself backed against the inside of her bedroom door, shielding herself from the sizzling orb. It hovered, bouncing gently as though rocking atop waves and with a hideous crack it exploded. 

A shriek tore itself form her lungs and she collapsed, arms instinctively boxing her own ears as she landed, scraping to life fresh carpet burns on her bare knees. As soon as the cacophony happened it ceased, and chest heaving in terror, she dared slip open an eye. 

“Ball lightning, makes a great conductor that. Hi Yaz!” 

Her blonde hair crowned her head, some standing nearly straight up in the remaining static of the air, like a halo. Yaz thought for a moment her eyes would fall from their sockets and land, wet and purposeless, those deceivers, on her bare feet. Her heart thrummed inside of her like an engine jolted abruptly to life, and the push of the muscles in her legs surprised her as she slowly slid back up the door. 

Behind Yaz the handle of it unexpectedly jiggled and it made to swing open, Sonya’s voice calling somewhere behind it. With all fo her weight she slammed back into it, her eyes never leaving the slight form standing before her, silent, hazel eyes scanning Yaz quizzically. She never had been one for social cues. 

“I said go away Sonya!”

“Are you alright Yasmin?” Najia’s voice. 

“Yeah mum! Just watching a scary movie, I’m fine.” She called back without breaking eye contact, her fingers itching to both strangle and enrobe the Doctor.

She looked different, somehow scruffier, and too thin, though she had always been a rail of a woman. She wore what looked like a pair of workman’s coveralls, impossibly dark and rolled up at the sleeves, holes burnt into the fabric here and there and a smudge of char across the left side of her face, a scar ticking the thin skin just beside her right eye. And she was smiling. 

Slowly, Yasmin’s lithe fingers twisted around the small in-knob bolt that locked her bedroom door before she straightened, and with all of the strength in her jellied legs surged forward. She watched as the Doctor’s face quickly flickered from glee to a look of surprise and then for the briefest, flightiest moment, before it was hidden away, fear. And then they crashed. Yasmin’s body molded flush to the older womans as the Doctor’s back thudded against the wall beside Yasmin’s window before they both slid down, Yasmin’s hands clutching the rough fabric of the coverall’s, and the Doctor’s thighs sliding flush between Yasmin’s straddling legs. 

Her breath painted hot strokes across the Doctor’s face and hazel eyes scanned her own, curious, terrified and bemused. Yasmin’s searched back, her face a morphing, unreadable thing before she leaned closer. 

“I hate you.” Her voice was a whisper, and despite the Doctor’s super-powered hearing she blinked as though she had been unable to understand the words. 

“What?” 

“I hate you.” And with the huff of it she closed the space between them, teeth colliding, lips crushed against each other as she brought her hands up to cup the hard line of the Doctor’s jaw. The woman responded with a hum, but no motion, and Yasmin could practically feel the cogs in her head turning, feel the puzzlement that would wrinkle her brow and scrunch her nose and heftily, to distract, sunk her teeth into the fullness of the Doctor’s bottom lip.

The barest yelp escaped her mouth into Yaz’s and the latter took it as an opportunity for intrusion, first soothing the now swollen lip with the tip of her tongue before swiping it into the waiting mouth of the Doctor. Painfully hesitant, the Doctor’s hands swam up toned brown thighs to land on the waistband of Yasmin’s sleep shorts, fingers drifting lazily beneath the elastic of it to stroke the curves of her hipbones. Yaz felt herself involuntarily grind down onto the Doctor’s thigh. It got her message across and the Doctor responded heartily, finally, her own tongue matching and teasing the path of Yaz’s, her knee crooking up to provide more friction to the juncture of the younger woman’s thighs. 

The Doctors head swam, a cloudy, messy slop of arousal and confusion, feeling like she was home and terrified of what that could mean, for her, for Yasmin Kahn, who had just told her profusely that she hated her and now radiated so hotly against her that she thought she would melt. She gripped the brunette’s hips harder and eased them toward her, drawing her center across the rough fabric of her pajamas, her own jaibird work suit and eliciting a moan from the woman atop her. The sound was soft and desperate and almost pained and she felt something inside of her break, splinter and she knew she couldn’t deny the want they shared. 

Still pulling Yasmin against her, the younger woman increasing the rhythm of her thrusts and sending vibrations through the muscles of the Doctor’s leg and hip, she spared a thin, pale hand to dip below the hemline of the white tank encasing Yasmin’s otherwise bare chest. As the underside of her thumb met the lower curve of a heavy breast she broke their kiss, licking the taste of mint tea and salt from her lips, before meeting Yasmin’s half lidded stare. She broke their gaze and skimmed her thumb across the softest skin she could imagine, the swell of a chest that protected a heart she had so desperately yearned to know deeper before she had disappeared, ready to die. When her eyes rose again, meeting a deep, thrilling honey, she narrowed her own, thumb idly stroking, as she asked silently for permission. 

Without interrupting the pace of her hips, Yasmin nodded, her own hand reaching to meet the Doctor’s beneath the tank, her opposite hand bracing against the Doctor’s shoulder. With a skilled, smooth movement Yaz whipped the fabric from her body, her skin glittering with the beginnings of perspiration from her efforts. In an instant the Doctor’s lips were on her, lapping at the dark peak of a dusky nipple, swirling and Yasmin could have sworn she saw stars for the first time since the Time Lord had left. 

Gently the Doctor’s hand crept, a frail, white creature, down the curve of her hip until her thumb glanced the curve of Yasmin’s pubic mound, the appendage darting between there bodies to press firmly between the fold’s of Yasmin to bare a heavy groan from her companion’s lips. The noise died into her palm as the Doctor swept a calloused hand over plump lips. Yaz’s mum had after all just been on the other side of the door. 

Increasing the pressure between them, the doctor lowered her ridden thigh, opting to sneak her finger’s past the waist of the black shorts to dip into a tangle of dark curls and moisture, switching the ministrations of her tongue from one breast to the other with a deft ease. As her fingertips met a hard bundle in the soft expanse of Yasmin another moan tore from her, accompanied by the suction cup release of the Doctor’s mouth on her nipple. 

“Yaz.” A warning before she leaned up to replace her palm with her lips, opting to swallow the sounds the woman made as she grated her hips against nimble fingers. Their pace hastened, and the Doctor knew Yasmin was getting closer, the control over her own body beginning to falter. In a quick motion she pulled her face from Yasmin’s and her finger’s from the heat of her, a low whining starting deep in Yasmin’s chest as the blonde eased her backwards, finger’s previously teasing her guiding the fabric of her shorts down pleasure-weakened legs. 

Wickedly, the Doctor hovered over her for a heartbeat’s length before diving forward, lips nipping and soothing the skin between her breasts, the pull of her ribs, the space below her belly button before placing a treacherously soft kiss at the crest of her. 

The moment the Doctor’s tongue touched Yasmin’s clit her hips arched in the most beautiful way, breaching upwards, chasing the feel of the strong muscles of the Doctor’s mouth flitting across her and she had to bite her own hand to keep from crying out. It was like melting through the floor and becoming whole all at once, a fizzle of summer sparklers burning the edges of her hands and drowning, and she knew she would happily exchange all of the air within her lungs for the sensation. It was a feeling so acute she wished for it to never stop and to end all at once and she rocked her hips into the most beautiful face she had ever seen, made of light and stars and galaxies and she watched as hazel eyes concentrated so intently on her that she feared they may destroy her.

And they did, the shuddering, muscle contracting euphoria of release engulfing her and she felt herself dissolve into dust and chaos and bliss in the work and time roughened hands of a woman she could never hate. 

Her breathing, the loudest sound in the room, other than what she could swear was the audible thud of two hearts that were not her own, came in puffs and hums. She registered briefly that the thunder had stopped, the crash bangs of lighting dying with the arrival of the alien, though the patter of rain persisted around them, soft and amiable. Fingers stroked tender circles into the flesh of her thigh and a blonde mop laid fondly across the expanse of her hips, a suddenly shy pair of eyes looking everywhere but at her. Achingly she sat up, the head in her lap shifted and finally, the eyes met hers, a cautious smile breaking pleasure moistened lips. 

“I-“ she sat up further, hands clasping the Time Lord’s shoulders to pull her upright with her, wincing with the increase of pressure to her abdomen, until they sat face to face beneath the window, droplets of water marring the crack in it like droplet of blood from a scratch.

“I hate you…” she lent forward, amber fingers clasping the zipper that held the panels of the Doctor’s coveralls together, the teeth of it clicking tantalizingly slow as she dragged it downward. The Doctor’s gaze darted between her eyes, a look almost like betrayal marring them before Yaz’s hands abandoned the zipper now at her belly button. They moved agonizingly to grasp the shoulders of fabric that framed her neck before easing them slowly from pale, freckled shoulders, a pleased hum leaving her lips as she found the Doctor bare, nipples tightening atop small breasts in the sudden cold. 

“…for making me wait eight months to be able to do this.” Her lips quirked into a sad, hungry smile that mirrored itself on the Doctor’s face.

“I missed you, so much.”


End file.
